


And This Old World Is A New World And A Bold World For Me

by Chrism



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Mentions of Nightmares, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of memory loss, Other, Self Care, solo sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrism/pseuds/Chrism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He should get up, shower, maybe even shave, instead of laying in bed. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was a very comfortable bed, though.</i>
</p><p>(Set after Captain America: The Winter Soldier)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This Old World Is A New World And A Bold World For Me

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to [Sakuratsukikage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraTsukikage) for her amazing help and support on this fic.
> 
> Title from [Feeling Good](http://youtu.be/OfJRX-8SXOs) by the magnificent Nina Simone.

Nothing woke Bucky but himself. No nightmare snapping him out of unconsciousness, no rough hands pulling at him or searing, burning cold tearing him from sleep. Not shouting, in a language that sometimes took an extra moment to process to meaning, or the buzz of an alarm. 

Everything was quiet, the bed was comfortable and warm, his aches and pains were minor, routine, nothing that begged attention. He just woke, slowly, because there was no pressing need to be awake yet, feeling _rested_. 

He'd slept early the night before, the snowstorm forcing him to stop a town sooner than he'd meant to. It was a small, sleepy place, so even with the storm the single motel had no trouble finding a room for him. He could have gone to a shelter, but the line for beds had gone down the street and he couldn't take one from someone who really couldn't afford a room. (He waited nearby, though, to make sure the stragglers found space as well.)

He'd turned on the TV in the aging motel room expecting a long sleepless night, but after an hour of staring with disinterest at a crime drama (only the one channel even came in), a wave of tiredness hit and he turned off the TV. Apparently there would be sleep tonight, and he had to take it when he could get it.

And he'd taken a solid ten hours of it, by his count, as he squinted at the slats of light cutting in around the window. Accounting for the brightness of the snow meant it was still early, and the roads wouldn't be clear for a few hours yet. He should get up, shower, maybe even shave, instead of laying in bed. He worked moisture back into his mouth, took a drink of water from the bottle left beside the bed and flopped back against the pillows again. 

It was a very comfortable bed, though, not too soft, and clean, with smooth sheets and a warm blanket. The best he'd had in a while. There was no rush to be out of here, and he'd make more progress waiting a few hours for some of the snow to melt off, it was way too early in the season for it to stick, even in this part of the country. 

And he was _comfortable_. 

Instead of getting up Bucky stretched, slowly, arching his back and then more carefully to one side, then the other, pulling out the usual stiffness around his shoulder and down his ribs, and rubbed with one hand at the persistent kink in his neck. He ran his hand beneath the sheets to adjust himself, boxers pulled tight as his body woke, too. He pulled the fabric away from his erection with a grimace of discomfort that gave way to a gasp of surprise at the feeling he got as his hand brushed against himself. 

He blinked up at the ceiling a moment, a little stunned. Not the first time he'd woken with a hard-on since D.C., and he knew it'd go away in a few minutes like it always did, but...that had been something. He ran his hand along that spot again, his touch firmer now, and found the flesh under the fabric firm and hot, the warm arcs of pleasure that sent through him making his breath quicken. 

It was a little overwhelming, if he had to be honest, like he hadn't touched himself this way in years. Of course, he thought darkly, he probably really hadn't, not like this, and he had no way of knowing when the last time really was, or if he remembered it at all and, well, it was probably best to avoid that line of thinking entirely if he wanted to see this through. And he did, really, so he pushed those thoughts away and focused on the feel of it, exploring slowly, with light touches, enjoying the warm friction and pressure and the twitches his body gave in response.

Another time he might think of an attractive someone or other, hot mouth and quick hands and smooth skin, moving against him, but his mind wasn't something he trusted these days; nice thoughts so easily twisted up into horror and blood and it was just safer for now to skip that step, if he could, and stick to the physical, the simplicity of touch and motion without his head twisting it up somehow. 

Right now, skipping the fantasy didn't seem like it'd be much of a problem. Bucky moved the covers off to his left, the air in the small room plenty warm from the overzealous radiator by the window. He lifted his hips and pushed his boxers down around his thighs, sighing quietly to finally have skin on skin contact, better than he'd remembered it would feel. 

He started with an even pace, trying out a few different strokes to see what felt best, slow and firm, or quick and light; he tried adding a twist or rolling his hips rather than moving his fist. It all felt good, great, even, but he knew within a few moments it didn't really matter how he moved. He could already feel the prickle of sweat across his chest and every pass of his hand was dizzying, made his hips twitch in reply, the sensation almost too much, near-burning under his skin. 

On a whim he turned his hand, switched his grip and moaned aloud at the change, jumping in surprise at how loud it sounded in the stillness of the room. He knew the adjoining rooms were empty, he had no roommates to disturb, and there were no cameras in the ceiling (he hoped), but it was still distracting to be so noisy, especially with only himself to hear it. He curled his other hand into the sheets near his head, twisting so the soft cotton wrapped around his fist once, twice, with a quiet whirr and hum as he clenched it tight. He was close, he knew, turning his head to set his teeth against cloth-covered knuckles, biting down to keep himself on earth, christ, he hadn't even come yet but it was already so much, too much almost and it just kept building, till he was barely aware of the muffled noises he breathed against his fist. 

When he came there was a fleeting moment he thought he might just pass out, sounds seemed far away with his eyes clenched tight, and he scarcely felt the warm mess hitting his chest, his chin, as he arched against the bed. Time spun out after that and he might have dozed off, his body warm and heavy and loose all over, like he would melt right into the bed.

Bucky opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, taking one slow breath and then another as he pulled himself together again. When his muscles felt less watery he pulled the pillowcase off one of the extra pillows on the bed and used it to wipe himself off, grimacing as he scrubbed at some drying in the stubble on his jaw. He gave up finally, the rest would just have to come off in the shower, and balled up the pillowcase to leave for housekeeping.

He sat up and stretched, marveling at how loose he felt after so much sleep, only a few aches and twinges, nothing serious pulling at his attention. The room was pleasantly warm and even with the slow start he was up in time for the breakfast bar in the hotel lobby, if he didn't dawdle washing up. 

As he waited for the water to run hot in the tub he leaned over the sink and used the mirror to scrub at the come on his jaw with one thumbnail. He sighed, he might just shave and solve the whole problem entirely. 

He looked over the rest of his face then, prodded at the circles under his eyes, which seemed a little lighter today, and caught the corner of his mouth quirking up into the hint of a smirk. Like so many things this morning it seemed a little unfamiliar, unused, but not uncomfortable. He shook his head, huffed out a sigh at himself, and turned to check the water temperature. He had to add a little cold, but then the water was just right, steamy-hot and just this side of scalding. He stepped into the shower feeling good. 


End file.
